Sugar and Spice
by MoreBonesPlz
Summary: A 2016 Bonesology Secret Santa potpourri gift with both a little sugar and a little spice.
1. Elf on the Shelf - Part 1

**A/N:** _This is my Secret Santa gift for FaithInBones. She wanted either Booth and Brennan or Booth and Max in any way she could get them (although, like many of us, I imagine she'd take Booth by himself if he was wrapped up with a ribbon and left under her tree!) So, with no more constraints than that I tried to come up with *_ something* _worthy to entertain the most prolific author of our Bones fandom. After a little time exercising my brain, I thought of a few different ideas and, unable to settle on which to pursue, decided – what the heck, as much as she gives to us, she deserves something much_ _ **more**_ _than just a simple fluffy story. Hence, Faith gets several stories rolled into one and they will vary from being nice and fluffy sweet to something with a little more naughty spice as we go along. With any luck, something in here will fulfill her Christmas wish._

 _Rating will change to "M" mid-way through._

 _Faith – I hope this delivers a little holiday cheer your way._

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 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (11/26/2016)

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 _STORY IDEA 1 – THE ELF ON THE SHELF (Part 1)_

Thanksgiving supper was over, the dishes that weren't set aside to soak overnight were washed, and the other guests had all recently departed. With an unconscious pat of his over-full belly, Max Keenan said a silent prayer of thanks that his son-in-law had once more prevailed in the kitchen, roasting up a delicious, golden brown turkey in lieu of succumbing to preparing the tofurkey his daughter kept threatening to serve each year. At the moment, Booth was tucking in Hank who'd fallen asleep sprawled out across the sofa like a drunken sailor, sippy cup of organic apple juice clenched tightly in his little fist, and Tempe was overseeing Christine's tooth brushing and face washing as she too prepared for bed.

Max picked up a couple pillows that had been tossed on the floor in disarray by the rambunctious children (and he included that pup, Aubrey in that group) and put them neatly back on the couch while waiting. It was time for him to take his own leave for the night, however, he still had one more thing to take care of before he left, so he patiently waited for Booth, Tempe, and Christine to return to the living area and say their farewells.

"Christine, Baby," Max called out to his grand-daughter as she preceded her mother and father into the room a few minutes later, "come on over here and say goodnight to your grandpa before you head off to bed. I have a little something for you before you go to sleep."

Christine had figured out long ago that Grandpa Max always had the best surprises (even though a lot of them made really, _really_ big messes) and quickly ran to his outstretched arms on her slippered feet, jumping enthusiastically into his embrace as he swung her up to his hip. "Ooof. Oh my goodness. You are getting much too big for an old man like me. You're going to have to stop growing so much if you want me to keep picking you up in my arms," he teased, wishing there weren't so many grains of truth to his words.

Christine just looped her arm around his neck and giggled. "What's my surprise, Grandpa?"

"Well, let's see. Your surprise." Max turned and pointed to where he had set a brown paper bag next to the fireplace when he first arrived earlier in the evening. "You see that bag over there? Why don't you go take out what's inside."

Squirming out from his arms, Christine quickly skipped over to the bag her grandfather identified and pulled out the box that was inside. Her face immediately lit up with excitement as she registered what she held in her hands. "Look, Mommy!" Clutching the gift to her chest, Christine dashed over to where Brennan was standing, near the kitchen island with Max following behind at a more sedate pace. "Look what Grandpa brought. It's our very own Elf on a Shelf!"

Brennan, brows furrowed, reached for the box her daughter handed her. "I believe it would be more accurate to state that it's an Elf in a Box." Brennan examined the gift before handing it back to Christine.

"Well, _now_ it is. But, we have to take the elf out of the box and set it on a shelf. That's the rule. My friend Lenora has one at her house and _she_ says he's magic," Christine argued emphatically, confident that anything Lenora said could be nothing but the truth.

Brennan's first instinct was to respond by noting the absurdity in believing that a toy elfin doll possessed any special magic, but a quick glance towards her husband on the other side of the room had her metaphorically biting her tongue. Even before becoming a mother herself, Booth had persuaded her that at Christmas time, it was socially and morally acceptable to perpetuate lies regarding the Christmas and Santa themed mythologies in order to enhance the pleasure children derived from the holiday. Sweets had even declared it an obligation of adults to help deceive children so they could experience the joy and innocence imbued in traditional holiday activities. In the almost seven years since Christine's birth, that notion had been demonstrably reinforced as she observed the joy and childlike wonder simple holiday traditions and stories put on her daughter's face.

Max reached down to ruffle Christine's hair as she carefully opened the box and removed the elfin doll from inside. "You know, princess, you have to give your elf a name in order to activate his magic and then, once you do, you're supposed to place him on the shelf and not touch him again until after Christmas. Touching him can ruin his magic, or so I've heard."

Brennan was still confused. "So, it just sits on the shelf for the next month and she can't even play with it? I don't understand why this seems to be such an exciting gift."

"C'mon, Bones. It's magic. Christmas magic," Booth explained, draping his arm over her shoulder. "The elf watches what happens around our house all day and at night, after we're all sleeping, he flies back to the North Pole to report to Santa about who's been naughty and who's been nice."

"You do realize how far Washington DC is from the North Pole, don't you Booth?"

"Well, yeah, but we're talking about magic, Bones. Santa's only one person after all, so he relies on all sorts of helpers to keep him informed every year."

"You're saying the elf functions like a special scout for Santa then?" she clarified.

"That's right." Booth gave her a cocky grin and a wink as he pulled her a little closer into his side. "And with him keeping an eye on us right here from our own house, it means you're going to have to be a little nicer to me this year or Santa will finally know the truth and you'll end up with a stocking full of coal."

Brennan just rolled her eyes at him and gave him a gentle nudge to his abdomen with her elbow, accompanied by one of _those_ looks – the kind that implied she thought his comment was completely irrational. "If I were much nicer to you, you'd be too tired to ever leave the bedroom," she muttered under her breath, for his ears only. She pretended not to notice when his grin just got wider and he whispered "naughty, naughty," and he pretended not to notice the light flush that appeared on her cheeks.

By now, Christine had removed the elf from the packaging. A story book about the duties of the Elf on a Shelf was also included in the box and she had pulled that out too. Leaning down with his hands on his knees so he was at her eye level, Max challenged "So, pumpkin, what should we name him? This magical, elf-spy-slash-scout of yours?"

Christine screwed her face up in concentration, studying the doll intently. Lenora's elf was named 'Jingles' and she had another friend with an elf named 'Sparkles'. Christine didn't want a name that was too cute, but she also didn't want a name that sounded like someone she might go to school with. She thought back to her memories of Christmas from the year before, searching for inspiration, but the memory that stood out the most was the evening spent snuggling under a blanket with her big brother, Parker, while they drank hot chocolate and Parker told her stories about their dad. He told her about how their dad had been in the Army before Christine was born and how he had travelled all over the world to find bad people and to protect good people from them. Parker told her about how brave their dad was and how he always knew his dad would do anything to keep him safe. Finally, she turned back to her Grandpa Max. "I think we should name him 'Ranger' because he's a special kind of scout, just like my daddy was when he was in the Army and Parker said daddy was a Ranger too. Last time he came to visit, Parker told me lots of stories about how brave our daddy is and I want our elf to be just as brave."

Max bent down and scooped her up, ignoring the soft looks passing between Booth and Brennan at their daughter's logic behind the name selection, and carried her over the bookshelf near where the Christmas tree would be erected later that weekend. "Okey dokey, kiddo. Find a spot to place your elf and then I believe it's bed time for you."

"Will you tuck me in tonight, Grandpa? Please?"

Max looked to Brennan for response. She gave a quick nod of her head, indicating her acceptance of the idea. "Sure thing, jelly-bean."

Christine gave the doll a quick kiss on the head, then carefully arranged him on a shelf that was eye-level to the adults so he had a good view of the room. "All right, then. Let's go read your new book together while I tuck you into bed." Max then carried her over to where she could collect her new book and give both her parents goodnight hugs and kisses before carrying her down the hall to her bedroom, performing one of his most cherished duties as a grandparent.

Ranger sat where he'd been placed on the shelf, quietly feeling the power of Christmas magic flow into his small body as he looked out into the room at the last two occupants. They were holding the box that had been his home until just a few minutes before and the dark haired man was telling the auburn haired lady that it was to be their job to make sure the elf was moved each night, after the kids went to bed.

Silly man. Didn't he understand magic at all?

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 **A/N:** _I've several more chapters to post on this thread, though I'm not prepared to commit to a specific posting schedule. I will have it all posted before the end of the year (2016, that is). Reviews and comments are always appreciated._


	2. Elf on the Shelf - Part 2

**A/N:** _Thanks for all the great support for the first chapter! I believe FaithInBones can use a little pick me up today. Hope this next installment on her holiday fic helps. This chapter will be told from Ranger's point of view, keeping in mind that all he knows about this new family of his comes from what he's seen and heard since he "came to life."_

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 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (11/30/2016)

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 _STORY 1 – THE ELF ON THE SHELF (Part 2)_

Ranger peered over the top of the black vintage Bakelite telephone sitting on the chestnut secretary desk by the large glass window wall separating the kitchen from the dining area and watched Booth enter the room dressed in a partially buttoned white dress shirt, blue plaid boxers, and green and grey striped trouser socks. There was a spring to Booth's step this morning and a self-satisfied smile curling up the edges of his mouth as he headed for the coffee machine in the kitchen, whistling some unrecognizable happy tune softly to himself as he prepared two mugs of the steaming brew that had percolated early that morning based on a pre-set timer.

Good jolly golly, but it was certainly a big improvement over his mood of the night before.

Ranger had been in the Booth residence for about a week now. In that time, he'd come to learn a lot about the occupants of this new family he'd been tasked to keep an eye on. Not only did he now know their names but he'd also come to understand how close they were as a family. Hugs and kisses were doled out unstintingly to the children at all times of the day and quite frequently between the adults once the kids were tucked away. Booth and Bones ( _an odd name for a woman_ he'd initially thought until he considered the names of some of his elfin brethren) seemed to co-parent fairly equally, taking turns with bathing kids, diaper changing, and book reading. Laughter and affection flowed freely between the occupants of the house, but both parents were firm in enforcing rules of behavior with the children too.

All in all, Ranger had decided that he'd landed a gig with an idyllic family – steady, reliable, and loving. It seemed their lives were subjected to very little real world stress, untouched by some of the uglier aspects of life. But, good jolly golly, was that last assumption shattered to smithereens the night before however.

Bones had been the first one home yesterday evening. She'd come through the door from the garage laden down with grocery bags that she immediately deposited onto the kitchen counter. After unloading the contents of her bags and putting away the items that didn't require hand washing, she'd retreated to her bedroom briefly to change into more casual attire before returning to the kitchen. Ranger hadn't noticed anything amiss as she washed the fruits and veggies then started preparations for the evening meal, but when Booth walked through the front door a little while later with both children in tow, the vibe in the house suddenly seemed drastically "off" somehow.

There was no welcoming kiss between the adults. No stolen glances at one another over the children's heads. None of their secret smiles or teasing jibes around the dinner table. Not even any flirtatious banter or spirited bickering over the contested accuracy of some inane point of discussion.

Booth, when looking at Bones, had glowered. There was really no other way to describe it accurately, but every time he looked at his wife, he frowned, tension evident in the clenching of his jaw and the lowering of his eyebrows over eyes that seemed to reflect a turbulent storm of emotion roiling inside.

Meanwhile, Bones had essentially ignored her husband – speaking to him as little as possible and keeping her sentences short and curt, while still civil, when the flow of conversation required her to address him directly in some form or fashion.

It was as obvious as the stripes on a candy cane that something had happened that day to put the couple outta-sorts with one another and Ranger was admittedly baffled by their behavior, curiosity compelling him to break one of the cardinal rules of being an Elf on a Shelf.

When no one was paying attention, he moved from his perch on top of an ancient Buddhist prayer wheel to a spot further down the shelf that provided a better view, laying down on his belly atop a novel so he could observe the human interactions more closely. As Ranger was more focused on the family dynamics playing out in front of him, it took him several moments to recognize that the black-and-white face staring out at him from the back of the book jacket was the same face that belonged to the woman seated only about a dozen feet away. And, she had a name other than 'Bones' – Dr. Temperance Brennan.

Throughout the evening, both adults made an effort to hide their grievances with one another from the children. Finally, Booth announced it was time for bed, sending his daughter off to change into her PJs and brush her teeth while Hank reached up for his mother's hand, toddling along beside her as she led him down the hall to his room. Booth sat on the couch, brooding and staring into the fireplace until Christine called out for him to come read with her and tuck her in.

While everyone was gone from the room, Ranger took advantage of the opportunity to learn more about Bones by studying the newly discovered book beneath him. Neither adult spoke much about the specifics of their work when they were home so he was still in the process of piecing together what they did each day when they left the house in the mornings.

Booth had been fairly easy. Ranger had figured out his first day in this household that Booth was in some sort of law enforcement role when he'd seen him walking around the house that first morning after Thanksgiving wearing a leather shoulder holster accompanied by a shiny gold badge tucked into his belt. That he worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation was clear almost immediately as he and his wife had referenced the FBI more than once in their conversations even if Ranger still wasn't entirely certain in which capacity he served.

Bones was more of a conundrum though. Every time he thought he might have figured her job out, she said or did something that led him down a different path. At first, he'd assumed she was some sort of scientist as she had alluded to needing to complete some work at the lab. The next evening, she'd spent a couple hours thoroughly reviewing and editing some journal article, bemoaning the author's poor grammatical skills and making Ranger ponder whether she might work for a publishing agency in some capacity. A couple days later, she'd brought home a crate of ancient artifacts that had been recently unearthed from a burial site not too far from Laas Gaal in Somalia. The colorful and knowledgeable stories she shared with her daughter about the artifacts as she'd engaged Christine in the process of cataloging the relics made him wonder if she was involved in archeology. Then, sprinkled throughout her conversations with Booth, they'd each made occasional references to her students or her interns leading Ranger to wonder whether she was a teacher of sorts.

Now this. A novel that appeared to be just one in a series of best-selling novels. A " _riveting thriller that will have the reader enthralled from beginning to end both by the infamous passion between Kathy and Andy and by the horrors they encounter pursuing this latest killer_ " was just one of several similar reviews Ranger read off the book cover.

The only explanation Ranger could come up with for all these different pieces of information was that Bones, aka Dr. Temperance Brennan, seemed to have multiple careers going simultaneously.

At the sound of footsteps coming back down the hall, Ranger again lay down prone across the book, appearing inanimate once more.

Booth walked into the room and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. After a moment of studying the bottles, he poured two fingers of bourbon into a crystal tumbler and tossed back a large gulp. The hissing sound he made as the alcohol hit his throat made it obvious that the large man felt the burn, but he didn't add any more alcohol to his glass. Instead, he wandered over closer to where Ranger lay, and reached for a picture frame on a nearby shelf, finishing his drink in smaller, more refined sips.

The picture he reached for was a wedding photo of Booth and Bones.

Ranger didn't need to view the picture again to know what Booth was seeing. He'd already studied it when he was alone a couple of days ago. Anyone who looked at that particular photo would behold a man and a woman completely in love. It was written clearly in their candid smiles and the way their eyes seemed wholly focused on each other with an unwavering intensity brilliantly captured by the photographer.

Bones walked into the room, a quick glance towards her husband telling her what she needed to know about his mood as she silently made her way over to her messenger bag, pulling her laptop out of the pocket. Without speaking a word, she turned around to head back down the hallway, but Booth's tortured words pulled her up short.

"The gun goes first, Bones." Booth's eyes bored into her back, his voice raw with emotion. "We've had this discussion before and if you're going to keep going into the field with me, you have got to accept that the gun goes first. Always."

She turned to look at him, her eyes reflecting a surprising tenderness instead of any anger or resentment over his declaration. Setting her laptop down on the table, she took a step in his direction and spoke in a calm, soothing manner. "I DO accept that Booth, but you have to be reasonable. Neither one of us thought there was anyone else in that house with us. You didn't have your gun out and you knew perfectly well that I was headed into another room, like I've done a hundred other times when we've been investigating, and you didn't seem any more concerned about it than I was. We both incorrectly assumed we were there alone."

"Well, we were fools, dammit, and in our line of work, we can't afford such foolishness. We spend our days hunting killers . . . sometimes they're complete psychopaths or sociopaths . . ."

"Yes, and we're very good at what we do, Booth. We have the best solve rate and best conviction rate of any team in the country."

". . . but we can't let ourselves be careless like that again. We can't." Booth took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his voice breaking slightly. "I just . . . I can't lose you, Bones."

Bones closed the distance between them, stopping right in front of him and placing her open palm gently over his heart. "You didn't lose me, Booth. I'm still right here. Right beside you, like I always will be."

Booth opened his eyes and stared down at her face, his deep chocolatey brown orbs filled with pain and fear, love and self-loathing. "I failed you though," he choked out. "I didn't protect you."

"You didn't fail me," she argued. "I'm not some helpless damsel in distress. I _can_ take care of myself, you know."

He nodded his head, acknowledging she'd proven herself more than once before in ways that substantiated her argument. "Maybe. Sometimes," he conceded reluctantly, "But it's my _job_ to protect you. As your partner . . . as the agent in charge of the investigation . . . as your husband. It's my job and because _I_ was careless today and I didn't completely clear the house first, you were put in danger . . . . God, Bones . . . you could've been killed."

Brennan harrumphed. "C'mon, Booth. You do protect me, all the time in so many ways. Even when you're not physically with me, I still constantly feel the protection you provide. But, you have to be rational about this. You can't be with me every minute of every day and when that man attacked me today, I was able to fight him off knowing that you were right around the corner and would be there to assist me any second."

"He attacked you with a knife! When I heard you yelp and ran into the room, he was swinging a knife at you. A fucking KNIFE."

"Yes, it was a hunting knife with a 6" long stainless steel fixed blade. Very sharp too. I'm fairly confident it will turn out to be the murder weapon that was used on our victim."

"Jesus, Bones. That's just . . ." Booth shuddered. "He tried to stab you with it, too."

"Yes, we already covered that and you are perfectly aware of the fact that I am trained in multiple forms of martial arts. I have studied and practiced my self-defense skills ever since I entered the foster care system and am quite proficient. You saw yourself that I had no difficulty dodging his sloppy attempt at using brute force to come after me and I easily used his momentum to flip him onto his back, simultaneously disarming him and immobilizing him until you could cuff him. His fighting technique was very poor."

"I know, but –"

"Stop." She placed a single finger across his mouth. "I know it scared you. I understand. I get scared when you're in peril too, but I recognize it's part of who you are and I wouldn't want you to be any other way. I'm fine and I was never in that much danger anyway." Her eyes twinkled as she gave him a flirtatious smile. "You used to think it was hot when I beat up one of our suspects."

Ranger could see Booth swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he stared at his wife, attempting to reign in his anxiety. "I still think it's hot, Bones . . . Incredibly so if I'm gonna be honest. It's just the fear of something bad happening to you kinda eclipsed the arousal, you know."

Brennan moved even closer to him, her chest brushing against his as the fingertips of one hand dipped into the front of his waist band, pulling their bodies flush, while the hand that had been covering his mouth slid around to the back of his neck. She raised her face to his, stopping her lips just millimeters from his. "Well, nothing bad happened to me, so how's that arousal now? Still eclipsed? Or is there something I can be doing -"

Booth's response was to slam his mouth down onto hers, pulling her body hard into his as he clung to her with all his might. He poured all the emotions he'd been wrestling with since earlier that day into the kiss – all the fear and the anger, the love and the desperation. Bones was right there with him, accepting it all, reciprocating with love and compassion.

They were passionate.

They were uninhibited.

And Ranger was extremely glad for the rosy colored paint that covered his cheeks which masked his blush. Good jolly golly, there was no way he could include _this_ in his report to Santa!

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 **A/N:** _Hope that was fun. Reviews and comments are always appreciated._


	3. Holiday Shopping

**A/N:** _Sorry for the delayed update. I was struggling to get this chapter the way I wanted and eventually gave up, sending what I had written off to the boneyard. Then, like a damn zombie, it just wouldn't die. It kept moaning in my ear and roaming aimlessly around in my brain as I tried to write something else, anything else. Anyway, I decided to resurrect it and am posting it so I'm not stuck fixating on it as the holidays pass us by. Be gone, evil chapter. I cast thee away._

 _We'll come back to the Elf on a Shelf later, but now, for something a little different . . ._

 _Note rating change._

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 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (12/10/2016)

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 _STORY 2 – HOLIDAY SHOPPING_

". . . and Hank Booth's stroller is sneaking up on the outside lane . . . vrrrooom, vrrrooom . . ." Special Agent Seeley Booth babbled to his son like a NASCAR announcer at the Talladega Superspeedway as they navigated the throngs of holiday shoppers cluttering the main aisle of Tyson's Corner Mall where Bones had dragged them for some last minute Saturday morning Christmas shopping. ". . . and look at that, ladies and gentlemen, Hank Booth has just pulled out in front of another one of St. Nick's minions. Woo hoo," he cheered quietly while impatiently checking his watch once more.

Brennan had ditched both her men shortly after they arrived at the mall, claiming she had a few things to pick up that she didn't need an audience for and Booth had taken advantage of the separation to pick up a few items that he planned to wrap and place under the tree for her. However, they weren't scheduled to meet up again for another 30 minutes and he'd already had his fill of joyous shopping cheer and can't-be-beat holiday bargains. Despite his legendary love of all things Christmas, his tolerance of the frantic consumer driven hordes was not infinite. Booth and Hank were ready to head home and leave the crowds behind. Besides, it would be lunch time soon and the Booth men needed to eat.

Luckily for Booth, being a special agent with the FBI whose wife's best-friend just happened to be a technology wizard did come with a few unique perks. So, he pushed Hank's stroller in between the calendar kiosk and one displaying knit scarves, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, and whipped out his phone, activating the app Angela had developed and installed that would direct him to within 10 feet of his missing wife's whereabouts. According to Angela, her app was better than anything Apple or Google had available and she was damned tired of worrying about Booth or Brennan disappearing on her yet again.

Booth's phone showed Brennan's position about three hundred feet west of his and Hank's location, so off they went weaving in and out of shoppers with more vrrrooom, vrrroooms, even spinning a doughnut at one surprising gap that opened up in the swarm of consumers. Based on the giggles and chortling sounds emanating from the front of the stroller with that maneuver, Hank had inherited his mother's penchant for uninhibited spontaneity. They were gonna have their hands full with this one as he grew older, Booth predicted.

The store Booth and Hank finally ended up in didn't seem at all like the type of place Bones would shop. The clothing on display seemed more tailored to rebellious teenagers, with mannequins wearing ripped jeans and shirts that hung low off the shoulder yet rode high above the belly button. Even though his phone showed he should be standing right in front of her, he couldn't see his wife anywhere. Given their history and what they did for a living, he felt his heart rate start to accelerate. Fear over why she wouldn't be where her phone said she should be started to pulse through his veins. Booth was about to try calling her number when a stranger's voice interrupted him.

"Cute kid."

"Huh?" Booth looked up from his phone to see a teenage girl with bright pink tinted hair, way too much eyeliner, and a shiny silver nose ring smiling down at Hank who, at only eighteen months, was already mastering the hallmark Booth charm smile, grinning back at her like she was his very own fairy princess come to life. "Oh, yeah. Thanks. Gets his looks from his mom." Booth glanced around the room, wondering where the hell Bones was. "Gets his smarts from her too."

"Right," the girl laughed, thinking the guy needed to take a closer look in the mirror if he was only crediting his wife for the kid's good looks. "You look a little lost and not like one of our usual customers. My name is Bethany." She pointed to her employee name tag pinned loosely to her shirt. "Can I help you find anything particular?"

"Nah. Well, maybe." Booth looked around again. "I'm trying to find my wife and according to my phone, she should be right here." Booth flashed the phone screen at the young girl, showing her the white dot that was supposed to be Brennan. "Have you seen a woman come in here, late thirties, about 5'-9" tall, and auburn hair?" He pulled his phone back and flipped quickly to his photo gallery, finding a shot of Brennan that he could show to the girl.

Bethany leaned in and took a look, noticing the woman in the picture truly was as beautiful as the man holding the phone was hot. Maybe the toddler did get his looks from her after all. Hard to say with two such good looking parents. "Mmm, she doesn't seem familiar." She shook her head and pointed to the ceiling. "Maybe you should try upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Booth looked up at the ceiling above his head, realizing as he did so that he wasn't actually going to be able to see anything up there, but unable to resist the urge to look anyway.

"Yeah, Level 2, you know. _Victoria's Secret_ is right above us on the next level and I bet that fancy app of yours doesn't specify floors. I gotta say, your wife looks like the type that would be more likely to shop in a store like that than a store like this. Just sayin'."

"Right. Level 2. Good idea. I'll try that." He spun Hank's stroller around with a quick 180-turn, making the toddler squeal with laughter and clap his hands in delight again. "Thanks for the help," Booth threw over his shoulder as he went in search of the elevators. _Bones in a lingerie store_ , he thought. _Now that had potential for making this shopping excursion to the holiday horde hell worthwhile_. . . .

* * *

Booth double-checked his phone several times as he and Hank made their way to _Victoria's Secret_ on the 2nd floor just to make sure Brennan didn't wander off somewhere else while they were in transit, but her white dot seemed to stay in the same general place.

Trying to be subtle, Booth pushed the stroller past the entrance to the store as he glanced through the display windows and open doors. He didn't want to interrupt Brennan if she was shopping for something sexy to surprise him with in the bedroom, but, let's be real, what red-blooded man would be able to resist trying to at least get a peek of what might be under consideration? It took three passes by the front doors before he finally spotted her, standing near the dressing rooms in the back of the store and talking to an attractive, young, blonde sales-clerk.

It was obvious that Brennan had several different items in her hands that she was discussing with Blondie, but there were too many merchandise display racks between the ladies and Booth for him to be able to see what goodies she held. Usually it was Angela who dragged Bones into stores like this, so he knew she was used to having someone help her make her selections. He was oh-so-very tempted to go on into the store and give his wife _his_ opinion, but expected that as soon as Hank saw his mother, the little boy would demand all her attention and they'd probably end up leaving without purchasing anything. (Hank was in one of those phases of extreme attachment to his mom these days and, having been apart for almost two hours now, was likely to want some dedicated coddling as soon as he spotted her.) However, as Booth stood there watching and debating his plan of action, Blondie followed Brennan into the dressing room area, presumably to fill Angela's typical role of proffering advice. Booth figured he and Hank could at least sneak further into the store and take up a spot inside that would give him a better view. He'd just make sure Hank's stroller was facing the other direction and hope the little guy didn't key in on his mother's voice.

Weaving the stroller between colorful racks of silks, satins, and lace, Booth took up a position just outside the dressing area with his back to the hallway and Hank facing the opposite wall. Once again, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be studying the screen, hoping that would deter anyone else from interrupting him. If he concentrated, he could hear part of a conversation occurring within the dressing room. He could only hear one side and assumed he was listening to Blondie who was likely standing in the hallway outside Brennan's dressing room.

.

" _Now THAT looks gorgeous on you."_

 _._

 _Blondie laughed. "Yes, I'd say it's worth at least a 'yowza' if not a whole lot more. Try on this one next."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

" _No, not at all. It's a bit racy, certainly, but look how the material falls around your hips, teasing and tempting. If you wear that for a lover, I doubt you'll be wearing it for long."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

" _Personally, I find women with full, curvy figures like yours are much more attractive than those stick-thin model types."_

.

" _Two kids? Really? Well, you look great . . . I suppose the two kids mean there's a husband in the picture too?"_

.

" _Figures. It's just like they say, the good ones are always taken. Here, try this one next."_

 _._

What the hell? Booth thought. It kind of sounded like Blondie was flirting with his wife. Over the next several minutes, he caught several other snippets of conversation that reinforced that impression. Booth couldn't decide whether he found that thought annoying or arousing, finally deciding he was feeling a little of both, which resulted in him also feeling some confusion and frustration too. Eventually, he heard Blondie offer to carry Brennan's selections to the cash register while Brennan finished getting dressed.

Booth turned and tried to see what Blondie had in her hands as she left the dressing room, but all he glimpsed was a flash of some sort of sheer black mesh type fabric. Not wanting to get caught hovering outside the dressing room by Brennan, he quickly steered the baby stroller back towards the front doors and took up a position outside of the store, lounging against the balcony railing while he tried patiently to wait for Brennan to finish making her purchases.

* * *

When they got home, Booth retreated down into his man cave where he wrapped and hid the gifts he'd picked up for Brennan, making sure they were safely tucked away for a couple more weeks. Entering the kitchen a little while later, he couldn't help but let his eyes roam over her as he thought about the snippet of conversation he'd eavesdropped on at the mall while she finished feeding Hank his lunch.

"When's Max supposed to bring Christine home from their big day together?" he asked.

Brennan grabbed a wet cloth and started to clean Hank's sticky fingers. "Not until late this afternoon. They were planning to do some shopping together, then grab some lunch down at the National Harbor before heading over to the Gaylord resort's annual ICE exhibit. I believe this year's theme highlights Christmas traditions from around the world and is supposed to include almost 5,000 ice sculptures."

"Oh, that's right."

Brennan glanced over at her husband thinking he seemed somewhat distracted, like his mind was only partially on the conversation. He'd been that way since they'd left the mall. "There's a plate of leftovers from last night in the fridge if you want to heat that up for your lunch. I'm going to go put Hank down for his nap now."

"Sounds good. Thanks." Booth found the plate of food and stuck it in the microwave before grabbing himself a beer and then sitting down at one of the high-backed, swivel barstools that flanked the kitchen island to eat. When Brennan returned several minutes later, he was just finishing his meal, staring aimlessly into the distance.

She grabbed a dish rag from the sink and started wiping down the counter tops. "Everything okay, Booth?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah."

"You seem very preoccupied."

"Nah, it's just . . . I was wondering . . . do you think that sales clerk at _Victoria's Secret_ this morning was hitting on you?" Booth watched her closely to see how she reacted, but unsurprisingly, Brennan seemed unperturbed.

"You mean because she wrote her cell phone number on my receipt with a note to call her, anytime?"

"No. Wait – what? She really did that?"

Brennan raised her eyebrows at Booth's reaction. "It's not like I have any intention of calling her, Booth. You should know that. However, you seem quite surprised by her actions. Objectively, by our current social standards, I am still considered a good-looking woman. You don't believe other people still find me attractive?"

"Of course they do. I mean, look at you. You're gorgeous, and you know _I_ still find you attractive." Booth deliberately let his eyes slowly caress her from head to toe and back again as he visually catalogued the creaminess of her skin, the gentle curves that highlighted her femininity, and the tilt of her lips that let him know she knew exactly what was going through his mind right then and she was pleased. When he spoke again, his voice was lower than usual and carried a rougher, husky timber to it. "I totally do. It's just . . . you know, I guess I'm used to knowing guys check you out when you walk by, and I know some of them even hit on you from time to time, but I never really thought about whether women sometimes hit on you too."

"Sometimes," Brennan shrugged. "Not as often as when I was younger, but it happens on occasion."

A moment passed in silence as she rinsed out her rag and moved to another counter top. Booth cleared his throat. "So . . . have you ever . . . ?"

"What? Engaged in sexual activities with another woman you mean?"

His only verbal response was a soft and short spoken "well, yeah," but his non-verbal response spoke much louder to her. Brennan could see the slight flush of deeper color on Booth's neck skin beneath his tan. His pupils were dilated making those chocolatey orbs she loved to drown in seem almost endless in their depth. His breathing was a little more shallow, a little more rapid than normal and his muscles had quieted with a tension as he waited for her answer, almost like he was battling a fight or flight urge. A clear indication that his norepinephrine levels were elevated.

"The thought of me sexually interacting with another woman arouses you." It was a statement of observation, not a question, confirmed by the way he fidgeted in his chair, but didn't even attempt to dial back the heat in his gaze.

Brennan studied him for a moment before tossing the dish rag she'd still had in her hands into the sink and making her way around the kitchen island where he sat to stand behind him, speaking as she went. "You know, women are generally much more open about their sexuality than men and, statistically, women are more likely to explore sexual intimacy with a same sex partner at some point in their lives than most men. Bisexuality is not uncommon." She slipped her arms around his waist from behind, placing her hands palm down across his abdomen before slowly sliding them upwards until she was cupping the underside of his pectoral muscles, using the nails on her thumbs to scrape back and forth gently (but not too gently) across his nipples until they beaded. She ignored his sudden inhalation of breath as she placed her lips right beside his ear, purring in a sultry tone that even Audrey Hepburn would envy "What you really want to know is whether I've ever touched another woman's breasts, just like I'm touching yours right now . . . weighing them in my hands . . . squeezing them, like this . . . or caressing them softly . . . teasing the nipples to erection. You want to know whether I've ever taken one into my mouth . . . sucking and swirling my tongue around the tip, here, before using my teeth . . . like I do when I'm in bed with you. Is that right?"

"Bones." Her name came out of his mouth on an exhalation of the breath he'd been holding followed by a deep masculine moan as she worried his earlobe with her teeth and the tip of her tongue. "Fuck. It's just . . . it's a guy thing," he tried to explain as her hands slid back down his abdomen and started tugging his shirt free from his waistband. "I swear . . . I don't want you with anyone but me, you know I don't, but, you know . . . the fantasy . . ." Together, they pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it haphazardly to the side. ". . . two women together, picturing one of them as you . . . I'm a guy and guys find it . . . ooooh," he ended on a groan as her hands were back on his chest now, bare skin-to-bare skin, and she was placing open mouthed kisses on his neck, trailing down to his shoulders, using a combination of lips, tongue, and teeth to send ripples of sensation up and down his spine.

"No one understands how to pleasure a woman's body better than another woman. Angela once told me that."

Booth's control was hanging by a thread now. He reached one arm up over his head and grabbed Brennan, tangling his fingers in her hair to hold onto her as he pulled her mouth away from his shoulder, spun his barstool around, and then pulled her bodily in to him, chest-to-chest, finally. For the next several minutes, his lips danced with hers in a deep, unrelenting kiss as disjointed images flashed through his mind. His hands slid down her back and when they reached the curve of her bottom, he pulled her close between his splayed legs, pressing her pelvis tight to his as he ground his erection into her stomach, ensuring she knew just how much she was affecting him. When they finally broke for air, he grinned down at her. "So, you and Angela, huh?"

Brennan's eyes twinkled merrily as she laughed and denied his conclusion. "No. Angela's my best friend and we have always spoken quite openly about matters related to sex, but we've never been physically intimate with one another. Not like that." She leaned forward, sipping the salt from his skin as she nibbled on the expanse of skin on display in front of her now. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Nah, that's actually good . . . real good." He began working on the buttons to Brennan's blouse. "I'm not sure I'd ever be able to concentrate on anything else again when you two were together if I knew that you and she . . . that the two of you had . . . you know . . . "

"Had sex."

"Right. That." Brennan's blouse fell to their feet with a soft swoosh, her bra following shortly thereafter and Booth mimicked her earlier actions, cupping her breasts in his palms and teasing her nipples with his thumbnails until he elicited a moan from her. "You never answered my original question though." He pinched and tugged the tips until she gasped in pleasure. "Have you ever?"

Brennan's eyes wandered down to the impressive bulge at the front of her husband's pants as she debated the best way to respond. She reached for his buckle, sliding the belt free of the clasp. "While I will freely admit that there have been times when I've been curious on an intellectual level about the appeal of a same sex liaison . . ." _Snap, snap, snap_ – with a little tug, the button fly of his jeans popped open all the way, ". . . I've never personally been enticed to indulge." Slipping the tips of her fingers into his jeans pockets, she tugged and pushed on his pants until he lifted his hips enough for her to expose his frivolous holiday-themed snowman boxers. Reaching into his open pants, she wrapped her hand around his cock and gave it a not-so-gentle stroke. "I enjoy this part too much."

"Aaah, Jesus, Bones. Careful there, it's loaded."

"I'm not just referring to how much I love your penis either, talented though it is," she teased. Brennan continued to stroke him, expertly massaging his glans with her thumb on the upstroke and subsequently tantalizing his scrotum as much as possible given the restrictions of his clothing on the down stroke. "I appreciate the beauty of all aspects of the human body, male or female, short or tall, plump or thin – it's all fascinating to me, but it's only the physique like yours that I've ever found sexually alluring. A woman's bare breast, while interesting, does not cause the release of hormones in my system that occurs when I see a well-cut male whose acromia tapers in a 'V' down to his iliac crest, or whose abdominal muscles visibly ripple when he moves. For a purely physical sexual response, one that causes my heart to race and my pussy to get wet, I'm drawn to the bodily characteristics that anthropologically are associated with alpha males – dominant brow ridge, strong jaw, muscular arms and legs –"

"Enough." Booth cut her off with another panty-wetting kiss. "I get it." _Kiss_. "You're not into women." _Kiss._

"Just you, Booth. Just you."

What followed next didn't require any more words. It was a familiar, but still exciting, choreography of hands and lips touching skin as they each worked to pleasure the other. Their remaining clothes fell by the wayside to allow for more intimate touches and caresses. With loving attention laved on the part of his body that so defined him as male, she brought him to the cusp of release, then backed off to draw things out. He reciprocated, doing the same with her by worshiping the parts of her body that were decidedly female. Touches, kisses, caresses, some soft, some more aggressive, more heated. All awarded by mutual sounds of appreciation. Eventually, he ordered her to straddle him on the barstool. "C'mere, Bones. Climb on my lap and take me inside you. I want to feel you surround me."

"The stool's too tall. There's nowhere for my legs, no way for me to get any leverage."

"I know," he smiled daringly. "You'll just have to trust me and rely on my big, manly muscles to take care of you."

She did.

And, he did.

As they came down from their high, Booth wrapped his arms around her, keeping her naked body pressed close to his as he deliberately flexed the muscles she rested against in a shameless display of his manliness. "Blondie never stood a chance."

Brennan laughed. "No, not a chance. I love you, Booth."

* * *

 **A/N:** _Hope you enjoyed your holiday zombie, Faith. Reviews and comments are always appreciated._


	4. Elf on the Shelf - Part 3

**A/N:** _Back to our Elf story …_

 _P.S. – I've snuck in a quick reference here to events from jazzyproz's SS fic "A New Tradition". While it's not necessary for you to read that story if you haven't already, it's certainly a fun one that I recommend._

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (12/21/2016)

* * *

 _STORY 1 – THE ELF ON THE SHELF (Part 3)_

The midnight blue sky was just starting to glow with a hint of early morning turquoise on the horizon when Ranger magically appeared back in the Booth residence from his nightly jaunt to the North Pole to give the big guy his latest update. It was always so exciting there – elves dashing hither and yon as they made their reports or helped with preparations for the rapidly approaching special night that was less than one week away now. The atmosphere was always festive and there was lots of singing, dancing, and making merry intertwined with the serious work required to complete the remaining tasks.

Even so, Ranger was glad to be back home.

Every night, the format was basically the same. The Elves on the Shelves would gather together in the great hall anticipating Santa's arrival, whooping and hollering cheers when he'd finally arrive with his old fashioned looking enchanted paper scroll of names and his magical feather pen. In the interest of time, he didn't request reports from every elf every night. If an elf had something worthy to report, good or bad, their name would magically appear on his scroll and he'd call on them to share their story. Once all the "must tell" stories were done, he'd randomly call on other elves from the audience to share anecdotes about their families until time ran out. While many of the stories were fairly typical - stories about snowball fights, baking cookies, or children trying to sneak peaks at their gifts – there were always a few less cheerful ones about families that were struggling, sometimes due to financial hardships or family illness and sometimes due to people simply not following through with their responsibilities.

There were a handful of elves whose names appeared regularly on the list, the children of their families being exceeding nice, or, more often, exceedingly naughty. But for the rest of the group, briefing Santa about once a week seemed sufficient for him to keep track of who was naughty or nice.

Then, there was Ranger.

Even though his name rarely appeared on the enchanted scroll, Ranger was singled out during the random story time period much more frequently than most other elves.

He assumed it was because Santa still wasn't quite sure what to make of the unique crime-fighting family Ranger was living with.

It all started that first night Santa called on him to share a story . . .

" _Ranger Booth" he'd bellowed merrily. "One of our newest recruits. Welcome, my friend, to our grand Elf on the Shelf clan. Consider all these elves around you as your brothers and sisters. You're one of them now."_

 _All the other elves had followed this with a cheerful chorus of "Welcome, Ranger."_

 _Ranger had felt so proud. It was an honor to serve Santa by being one of his special scouts and he was determined to do his best._

" _So, tell us something about your family, Ranger. Are they naughty or nice?"_

 _Ranger had beamed. "Good jolly golly, thank you, sir. I've been adopted by a family of four. Seeley Booth, his wife 'Bones', and their children Hank and Christine. Christine is almost seven and Hank is about eighteen months old. I've only been with them a couple days. They're a happy family, very loving, and so far, they all seem to be quite nice . . . I think."_

 _Santa's face had softened into a genuinely happy smile. "Seeley Booth. Such an unusual name, I easily remember him from his boyhood. He showed up on my naughty list a time or two like most boys will do, but I'm pleased to hear he's got a family of his own now in what sounds like a good home. He had a rough childhood and deserves a nice family, but I can't recall ever knowing of a young girl named Bones."_

" _I believe it may be a nickname, sir, but I've not heard her called anything else yet."_

" _Ah, that would make sense. Tell us, Ranger, has anything interesting happened at your household yet?"_

" _Well, good golly jolly, I certainly think so. Earlier this evening, a young man stopped by the house to speak with Bones. I believe his name was, uh, Wendell . . . Wendell Bray and he called her Dr. B."_

" _I know of Wendell," Santa folded his hands across his belly and chuckled in glee. "Good lad that one."_

" _Yes, well, see . . . he brought an amputated arm with him to the house. Stored it in a cooler of ice." Ranger ignored the sudden gasps and tittering from the elves around him. "I couldn't follow their conversation completely as they were on the far side of the room and speaking quietly, but he showed the arm to Bones and I could see it from my perch. I say, it was not a pretty sight, having been chopped off a couple inches above the elbow joint, just like a yule log, and looking like it had been dragged wily-nilly behind an entire herd of reindeer. They examined the arm together but I could only hear snippets of what they said, something about kerf marks and defensive wound markers. When they were done, she praised him for his work and directed him to clean the bones first thing in the morning. Then he left, taking the arm with him."_

 _When Ranger finished his story, he was greeted with a silence as absolute as the sound of the forest after a fresh snow falls. The other elves were all staring at him with stunned looks on their faces – some intrigued, some horrified, none quite certain how to react to such a story._

 _Even Santa seemed befuddled. His big bushy white eyebrows were furrowed and beneath his rosy tipped nose, he absently fiddled with the hair of his mustache, mumbling to himself. "an amputated arm . . . . not naughty though . . ." Santa looked over his magical scroll. "hmmm . . . not here . . . naughty would show up . . . she's not naughty, then, but someone . . . I suppose . . . hrrmmm."_

 _Santa pushed his spectacles up his nose and turned those blue eyes that are known all around the world for their merry twinkling directly on Ranger, sans twinkle. Good jolly golly, Ranger was suddenly grateful that everyone knew elves couldn't lie, they just couldn't do it, otherwise he wasn't sure Santa would've believed him. The look probably only lasted a second or two, but to Ranger it seemed much longer._

" _Thank you, Ranger." He turned back to the room. "Zant? Any updates on your family?"_

That was Ranger's first report.

Just two days later, Santa called on him again. Ranger was much better prepared this time and had even rehearsed what it was he would say if he was called on. He was going to tell everyone about Booth and Christine, snuggling on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate and reading her bedtime story together – Christine, smart as a whip, did most the reading with Booth guiding her through the difficult words. A nice, sweet, family moment. Nothing strange, nothing scary, nothing to do with human remains.

That was the plan, anyway.

But plans sometimes go awry and before he knew what was happening, Ranger was describing gingerbread _people_ (because they're not just men) decked out as skeletons. Apparently, it was a holiday tradition for Booth's co-worker, Agent Aubrey, to spend an afternoon with Christine every year, building a gingerbread house from a kit and, after decorating the house, they'd decorate gingerbread people as skeletons while they snacked on their left over candies.

When Ranger finished his story that he specifically did _not_ plan to share, Santa was left muttering again. He pulled his stockinged cap from his head, holding it in his lap, while he ran his other hand back and forth over his brow. ". . . mixing skeletons and _Christmas?_ . . . whoever heard of such a thing . . . can't call it nice, how can mixing _skeletons_ and _Christmas_ together be nice . . . but is it really _naughty_? . . . hmm, that's the question . . ." Santa flipped through his magical scroll once more.

Ranger told himself to stay quiet. Santa would move on to another elf soon enough. But, apparently it wasn't his night for following plans. "Christine's skeletons are extremely accurate," he defended. "Her mother can even tell which of the gingerbread people are male or female based on Christine's icing renderings of the pelvic girdles."

Once again, Santa pinned Ranger with his gaze, sans twinkle in his eyes, and Ranger swallowed nervously. "She even made one of them a polydactyl," he squeaked.

And so it went.

Every couple days, Santa would ask Ranger for a story. And, every time, Ranger would plan to share one of the day's normal events – Christine rehearsing for her dance recital, Hank knocking over towers of blocks, the family playing _Ready, Set, Fun_ after dinner and bickering over whether Wendy Whoopee could beat Frankie Fireworks without cheating. But, when it came time to report, Ranger seemed to lose control over his mouth and always ended up sharing a different story, usually one involving death, murder, or human remains, which left Santa sighing and questioning how something that sounded so bad was never actually "naughty".

Then, there was last night.

The night had started out like many others. Just an ordinary evening. Booth and Bones played with the kids until dinner time while Ranger watched from a spot front and center on the fireplace mantel. Afterwards, it was homework and baths and reading books before tucking the youngsters in for the night.

For once, the evening passed and Ranger heard nothing new about victims or crimes or dead people. He was sure he was in the clear this time and would be able to give the Big Guy a report just like all the other elves shared.

Once the kids were settled, Booth dropped onto the couch in front of the TV above Ranger's head to catch up on the day's sports and Bones sat beside him, laptop open on her lap, doing her own thing. Little by little, Booth inched his way closer to her until she was tucked up against his side. Then, like a scene out of a bad movie, Booth stretched, yawning and extending his arms high, one of which ended up draped over her shoulders when he was done.

Bones looked at him suspiciously from the corner of her eyes. "I really have to get this done, Booth. My editor's calling me daily for updates and threatening to arrange for me to go on a morning talk show as retribution if I don't meet my next deadline."

"Yeah. Sure, Bones. I got it."

It must've been a slow sports night because it wasn't long until Booth's fingers started wandering, slowly drawing circles on her shoulder, occasionally venturing a little further to the front or back of her shoulder. Bones tilted her head and gave him another look from the corner of her eyes, accompanied by a stern frown. "Booth," she reprimanded, her voice clearly annoyed.

"Sorry." He shifted against her, replacing his arm so that his hand was resting quietly on her shoulder again, fingers still. "I'll try to behave."

Several minutes passed while Booth watched the TV and Bones tapped away on her computer before Booth's fingers started drifting again. He kept his head turned to the TV, but every few minutes, his fingers would start to slip down past her clavicle more than an inch or two and she'd swat at his hand, causing it to retract. Eventually, he got smart and waited until he could tell she'd just had a thought she wanted to capture, her fingers flying furiously over the computer keypad, and he made his move. By the time she finished typing her sentence, Booth had a hand full of breast, his thumb teasing back and forth over the tip. Bones turned to glare at him, grabbing his hand off her boob and deliberately placing it back on her shoulder.

Booth just smiled back, innocently.

With an exasperated shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she went back to her work, but a small smile could be seen teasing the corners of her mouth too.

Ranger presumed the lack of a verbal reprimand must've emboldened Booth because that hand that had been drawing lazy circles on her shoulder got a little more adventurous, slipping under the collar of her shirt and caressing her neck. Shortly thereafter, Bones snapped her laptop closed, pushing it onto the coffee table and giving up the pretense of working.

She immediately turned towards her husband. "How am I supposed to work when you keep taunting me with the prospect of sexual intercourse?" Then, just like that, they were kissing. They weren't soft or sweet little kisses either. Instead, the word that came to Ranger's mind from his vantage point was carnal. Open-mouthed, raw, and passionate. As they became more aggressive with their lips, teeth, and tongues, their hands followed suit, roaming over everything that was in reach, eliciting gasps and moans along the way.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far. Round two . . . maybe."

Booth's shirt went flying over the back of the sofa.

"Mmm. I love when you promise me a night of multiple orgasms," Bones replied, pulling his body over hers as she leaned back against the couch cushions, shifting her legs to cradle his pelvis so she could feel the press of his erection against her core. "Oooh, yesss. That feels nice. First one won't be long . . ."

Ranger was watching in horrified fascination as Booth unfastened the buttons down the front of her blouse, certain he'd be called out for his voyeuristic tendencies if Santa hailed him for a story this night and knowing there was a good likelihood that his name would be called since he managed to avoid speaking the night before. When Bones arched her back, throwing her head backwards, and Booth buried his face between her breasts, releasing what was obviously a front latch to her bra with his teeth before wrapping his lips around the tip of one and suckling quite thoroughly, Ranger wanted to hide, duck his head, turn away. But he couldn't, he was in too visible a spot.

Luckily (for Ranger anyway), it was about that time that the miracle happened, saving him intolerable embarrassment. An almost 24-inch tall miracle that came toddling out of the hallway, rubbing sleepy eyes with a chubby fist and dragging a brown, floppy-eared stuffed dog behind him. Unnoticed by the couple on the couch, Hank walked right over to them, not stopping until he was right beside their heads. "Mama."

Booth jumped into the air like a cat with his tail caught in a mouse trap, flying up and backwards and landing on his feet beside the couch. "Hank," he croaked, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. "What the . . ." he paused and took a deep breath before starting over, "Hey, buddy, what's up?"

Bones discreetly closed and buttoned her shirt as she sat up, then reached for their boy, pulling him and his stuffed animal onto her lap where he immediately snuggled up against her, saying her name again.

Booth stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the duo on the couch. "How'd he get out of his crib?"

"I imagine he's inherited his father's impressive athletic prowess and the crib is no longer able to confine him."

"Damn."

"Yes. I was rather enjoying myself and your attentions had me on the verge of my first cli–"

"Bones. Shhh. You can't talk about _that_ in front of _him_."

"He's too young to understand, Booth."

"I don't care. No talking about S-E-X in front of the kids. Just . . . stop."

Bones simply rolled her eyes, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her husband.

Later that night, as he predicted, Santa did ask Ranger for a report. For once, his mouth didn't run away with him and he was able to relay the story of how the youngest member of the Booth family had been dubbed "Houdini Hank", leaving out the specific details of what Booth and Bones had been doing before Hank escaped his crib. Instead, he told of how the couple had comforted the small boy – Booth reading stories while Bones cradled him her lap – until the boy fell asleep again. Ranger didn't even feel compelled to mention that after they tucked the small boy back into bed and turned out the lights in the living area, he was certain he heard the 'snick' of the lock being turned on their bedroom door as they turned in for the night as well.

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 **A/N:** _Hope that was entertaining. Reviews and comments are always appreciated._


	5. Holday Giving: The Max Keenan Way

**A/N:** _This was my 3_ _rd_ _story idea which will hopefully give FaithInBones some of the Booth and Max interaction she requested. It ended up being a longer chapter than expected, but I didn't want to break it up. Also posting Ch. 6 (Epilogue) today too. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (1/1/2017)

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STORY 3 – HOLIDAY GIVING: THE MAX KEENAN WAY

Booth sat behind his desk, slowly pecking away at his keyboard one finger at a time, as he filled out yet another standard government generated bureaucratic form for documenting case findings. A new body had been found that morning and the investigation was still just getting rolling, so he was simply filling in the few details they'd uncovered so far. He was glad that this part of the paperwork process was relatively monotonous and routine as his mind was pleasantly preoccupied with thoughts of Christmas, right around the corner.

His shopping was done. The presents he'd purchased all wrapped. Some under the tree, some that wouldn't be placed there until Christmas Eve. This year, he was planning to take both Christine and Hank with him to Midnight Mass. It had taken a little persuading to get Bones to agree that Hank was old enough, but at this point in their relationship, Booth had learned the most effective ways of _persuading_ his wife – red wine, a warm bubble bath, and an intimate massage culminating in orgasm. Multiple orgasms helped sometimes if she was really reluctant to go along with him. Of course, he occasionally suspected she acted deliberately stubborn about certain things simply because she wanted to be _persuaded_ , but that was okay. He didn't mind . . . Not. One. Bit.

Save. Exit. Onto setting up the next pain-in-the-ass standard form.

 _Name of deceased: J-a-s-o-n S-a-t-u-r-o_

 _Gender: M-a-l-e_

 _Race: A-s-i-a-n_

As he once again entered in the pertinent information about the victim that the Jeffersonian had been able to discover so far, his phone rang. A quick glance at the screen showed him a number he didn't recognize. "This is Special Agent Seeley Booth," he answered.

"Booth," came a familiar voice across the line. "How's my favorite son-in-law doing today?"

Booth's cautious hesitation in responding was barely perceptible. "Hello, Max. You know, calling me your favorite as a compliment if you're trying to butter me up for something loses a little of its oomph when I happen to be your only son-in-law."

"Well, sure. Sure, I suppose, but it wouldn't be very nice of me to call up and ask about my _least_ favorite son-in-law, now would it? By your logic, that would be a valid statement too since favorite and least favorite are relative assessments, but somehow, that just seems kind of rude to me, don't 'cha think?"

Booth leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. Some days, the similarities between Bones and her father were just so glaringly obvious to him. "What's up, Max?" Booth knew Max had to have a purpose behind his call. They weren't girls, after all, inclined to just sit and gossip for hours on the phone.

"Oh, you know. I was just wondering if maybe you might have time to meet an old man for a drink. Catch up on what's happening since I just got back into town the other day. Plus, I need to get some ideas about what kinds of gifts to get the kids for Christmas."

"Why not call Bones? She's probably the better one to ask about that stuff anyway."

"Right. Well, uh, I need to get something for Tempe too, so I thought we could have a quick man-to-man chat over a beer. I'll even offer to pick up the tab."

Booth was immediately suspicious – calling for help about gift shopping was oddly out of character for the old con man, but offering to pay for a drink was even more so. However, Booth knew with Max, he'd have to wait for him reveal whatever was on his mind in his own time. Damn wily old bastard. Best just to go along. "Okay, sure. Give me about half an hour to wrap up what I'm working on here. Then, I can meet you at the Founding Fathers. Sound okay?"

"Well, actually, I was hoping you could pick me up and, ah, give me a ride."

"Aaallright," Booth answered cautiously. "I'll swing by your apartment to get you then. I should be there in less than an hour."

"Um . . . well . . . the thing is, I'm not exactly at home right now. I was hoping maybe you could come pick me up from, you know, the Prince William County central police station. It's a straight shot down I-95 south from your office. Maybe you could even put in a good word for me with the officers here?"

"Jesus, Max." Booth's head dropped into his hands as he cursed himself for ever picking up the phone to begin with. "What the hell did you do this time?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I swear. I'm innocent," Max claimed. "It's all just a simple misunderstanding. Do me a favor though and just . . . just don't say anything about this to Tempe. I don't want her getting upset unnecessarily. Okay, buddy?"

"I swear, Max. You're going to be the death of me if I don't kill you first someday," Booth growled. "I'll come get you, but so help me, if you've done anything stupid and illegal, I'll be the first one to slap the cuffs on you and haul your ass away for a long, long time. You'll be damn lucky if you ever see a Christmas from outside a prison cell again."

* * *

By the time Booth made it to the Prince William County central police station, any remnants of the holiday cheer he'd been feeling earlier in the day were gone. He was pissed, certain that Max had done something that would either end up creating friction between him and Bones or that would cause Bones pain. Booth didn't want either of those things, ever, but especially not during Christmas when they were both so focused on making the holiday happy and magical for their own kids.

To pass the time during his drive from downtown D.C. to the local northern Virginia county police office, he entertained fantasies about taking out his gun and shooting Max. That's how annoyed he was. Undoubtedly, it would feel quite satisfying. And, who could really blame him if he did? It was Max, after all, and anyone who'd met Max would surely understand. Caroline would. Tempting as the idea was though, Christine would probably never understand or forgive him. _Merry Christmas, Princess. I just shot your beloved Grandpa_. Damn. He didn't think that would go over well.

Pulling open one of the glass double doors that led into the station, Booth entered the building and approached the front reception desk. He wasn't in the mood for niceties and unconsciously adopted the behaviors of a stereotypical alpha male – puffing out his chest, an aggressive thrust of his jaw, eyes furrowed fiercely. He pulled his badge from his waist and slapped it down on the counter in front of the young police officer currently working the front desk. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, F.B.I. I'm here to pick up Max Keenan who was apparently brought in a couple hours ago. Where can I find him?"

The young officer glanced up, instantly recognizing a man of authority who wasn't in the mood for bullshit, and hurried to assist. "Yes, sir. Give me just . . a second . . to check here." He tapped in a few things on his keyboard, paused, tapped in a few more. "Got him. He's on the third floor with Officer McCreary. Take the elevators right over there and when you exit, turn right. Follow the hallway to the end and he should be in the suite on your left."

"Thanks." Even if it was spoken gruffly, he managed to acknowledge the help knowing that this young officer was not responsible for Max's behavior or Booth's bad mood.

As Booth approached the suite he'd been directed to, he could hear the unmistakable sound of Max's voice carrying through the open door and down the hall.

" _. . . and so there we were, the three of us, wearing nothing at all but our running shoes as we raced down the hill in all our naked glory, a pissed off wild mama boar hot on our heels."_

Booth walked into the suite to find a grinning Max, sitting casually on the corner of a desk and chatting with an attractive, mid-30s, female police officer who was laughing so hard at his story that she didn't even notice Booth's arrival until Max merrily acknowledged him. "Hey, Booth. Thanks for coming to get me." Booth felt a little of the tension he'd been battling since Max's call leave his body, noticing that at least Max wasn't in handcuffs or behind bars and the officer seemed friendly with him, so whatever was going on couldn't be all that bad. Right?

The woman behind the desk stood up, still smiling, and held out her hand. "Officer McCreary. You must be the hot-shot F.B.I. son-in-law Mr. Keenan here has been telling me about." Booth reached out, accepting her hand, noticing her grip was solid and confident without being too overbearing.

"Seeley Booth. Word of advice. Don't believe everything Max tells you."

"Hey," Max complained.

She pulled her hand back, placing both fists on her hips and gave Max a sideways glance, her eyes still twinkling with humor. "Your father-in-law is quite the charming rascal, isn't he?"

"Sweetheart, if I was even just ten years younger, I wouldn't leave here today without your phone number and a promise to see me again, but, unfortunately, at my age, I don't think I could keep up with a woman like you anymore."

McCreary just smiled at him fondly. "He's been regaling me with stories from his misspent past while we waited for you to arrive. I'm sure you have your hands full trying to keep this one out of trouble."

"You have no idea," bemoaned Booth.

"Now, that's just not fair. It's been a long time since I've tangled with the law."

"Really, Max? Ohio. Grave robbing. Does that ring a bell?"

"Oh, alright. Fine. It's only been around two years," he conceded. "But, that's still pretty good, right? Besides, those charges didn't stick anyway."

Booth just heaved an exasperated sigh and raised his eyes to the ceiling, silently asking for divine patience. "Somehow, they never do, Max. They never do . . . . So, either of you care to tell me why I'm here _this_ time?"

Officer McCreary spoke first. "Max here was picked up at a jewelry store in the Potomac Mills mall with a very expensive stolen diamond and ruby necklace in his pocket."

"Fuck." Booth glared at the old man. "What the hell were you thinking, Max? If you were in need of money, you should've let us know. You know we'd help you out if you needed money. Besides, Bones and I would much rather give you a little financial assistance than to have to pay for bail and lawyers, dammit." Booth generally tried not to think too hard about Max's sources of income. Certainly, the man wasn't living off a conventional 401K retirement plan and who knew if he'd ever actually done an _honest_ day's work, but he didn't typically appear to be strapped for cash and Booth figured he was better off the less he knew.

"Now, Booth, it's not what you're thinking." Max turned to the pretty officer. "See, what did I tell you? He always thinks the worst of me right off the bat." He turned back to Booth. "I didn't steal anything. I was returning the merchandise, not taking it. Tell him."

"It's true," Officer McCreary confirmed. "The store has a plain clothes security guard working there who thought he saw Max do something suspicious, so they detained him and searched his pockets, finding the jewels. However, the proprietor of the store confirmed that the jewelry Max was carrying had been stolen roughly a week earlier along with a couple other pieces which also miraculously appeared back in their cases this afternoon too. Since Max was out of town last week when the jewelry first disappeared, we're satisfied he wasn't the thief and the jewelry store proprietor is not pressing any charges against him since it appears he was attempting to return the missing items. They're just glad to have their goods returned so they won't have to deal further with trying to recoup their losses from their insurance company."

Booth was still glaring at Max, who was still sitting on the desk, batting his eyes and looking completely innocent. Booth wasn't buying it though. "Why'd you bring him here to the station if he's not being charged with anything?"

"Despite the fact that he's a charming, roguish devil who has an alibi for the theft, he did still have possession of the stolen jewels and we couldn't just let him walk away. We brought him in for questioning, hoping he could help us finger who the actual thief is, but he refused to speak to anyone but you." Officer McCreary smiled. "Given what we discovered about his past record when we checked our databases, he seems to have a complex history which exceeds the capabilities of what our little local law enforcement division here can really handle effectively. Since you're here anyway to pick him up, we're officially transferring him into the care of the F.B.I. Max Keenan is your problem now."

"Fuck."

* * *

Booth's big, black SUV barreled up the interstate at 75 mph heading north, leaving the Prince William County police station far behind. Inside the cab, the older of the two men happily relaxed against the leather upholstery, enjoying the luxury of heated front seat cushions as he hummed merrily along with the Christmas music playing on the radio. Even though the vehicle was the property of the F.B.I., an organization Max generally tried to avoid all interaction with whenever possible, he wasn't feeling at all threatened at the moment. He was with Booth and Booth was family. He may curse and grumble, even issue veiled (or not so veiled) threats, but he'd come around and be reasonable once he calmed down a bit. A little time and patience were all that was required.

Max could smell the faint aroma of his daughter's scent lingering in the air around his seat, a testament to the amount of time she spent right where he was currently sitting. He could see his grandson's car seat securely fastened right behind the driver's seat and right beside that, a book he had purchased for his granddaughter not that long ago, obviously left behind during the rush to exit the car at some point.

Despite the current situation, these signs meant all Max was thinking about right then was how happy he was that Tempe had made herself such a wonderful family. Life had taught Max a lot of lessons over the years – some good, many not. But, one thing he understood now, looking back over his years, was the importance of family. Finding a lover you could depend on and share your joys and burdens with. Having children and watching them grow, their little minds rapidly soaking up information. While he was exceedingly proud of his daughter for all her academic achievements and her many career successes, none of that made him nearly as happy as seeing the love in her eyes when she was with her husband and children and how that love was unhesitatingly returned. Booth, Christine, Hank, and even Parker had given Tempe's life fulfillment in a way that no amount of scholastic accomplishments could ever replace.

Meanwhile, the younger of the two men silently seethed in his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel with a white knuckled grasp and eyes staring straight ahead with barely a blink, as he pondered what the hell to do with his father-in-law. He was a homicide detective, not larceny, yet there was absolutely no way he was handing Max off to another agent for questioning. He could picture it now - Bones would be all stoic, claiming she understood and that her father needed to be held responsible according to the law for whatever role he played in this mischief, but regardless of what her rational mind compelled to her espouse verbally or how hard she attempted to compartmentalize, inside she'd be feeling hurt, confused, and betrayed. And he was caught up right in the damn middle of it.

As the sounds of 'Santa, Baby' gave way to commercials, Max decided to break the silence by starting to talk about their upcoming Christmas dinner plans. "There's a fantastic little bakery that opened up a few months ago just down the street from my apartment. It's a small family operation run by an older Belgian couple in quasi-retirement and the handful of treats I've tasted so far just melt in your mouth. Yummm. I thought I'd swing by there and pick up a few desserts to go with our Christmas dinner in a couple days. They've got pie for you and cakes for the kids. Can you let Tempe know for me?"

Booth finally glanced over at Max, no longer able to ignore his passenger now that he was speaking, but his mind wasn't ready to make a transition from the legal mess confronting them. "Alright, Max. Why don't you tell me how it is that those jewels just happened to end up in your coat pocket if they were stolen when you were out of town."

"Officially?"

Booth frowned even harder at the road in front of him, a feat Max was impressed to see. "What? Of course, officially. You were legally transferred into my charge by Officer McCreary and now I'm gonna have to follow up with filling out more paperwork and providing an explanation as to how you're involved in this fiasco while trying to keep you out of prison." Booth turned his glower on Max. "Again."

Max nodded his understanding. "I found them."

"You found them?"

"Yep."

"I don't believe you."

Max shrugged, unconcerned. "Well, that's my official story."

"Really?" Booth made no effort to hide the skepticism in his voice. "Where did you find them?"

"They were just sitting there on a picnic table when I took a morning walk through the park near my apartment yesterday."

"Why didn't you report it? How did you know where to return them?"

"The bag the jewelry pieces were in had the store logo on the side and I didn't report it for just this reason. I figured if I reported it, I'd somehow become the accused. I figured it would just be easier if I returned them myself." Max chuckled. "Would've been less paperwork for you that way."

"So, that's the story you're gonna go with?"

"Officially, yes."

Booth mulled over Max's words in silence as he drove. The tale Max spun provided an improbable but not impossible explanation that would satisfy his official paperwork obligations and allow Max to stay out of trouble. It was a lie, Booth's gut was screaming that at him loud and clear, but it was enough to close the issue officially. "How about unofficially?"

"Unofficially? Well, anything unofficial would be all hypothetical speculation, you understand."

"Right. Just speculation about another alternative possibility to the story."

Max nodded, taking Booth's words to mean he had calmed down enough to at least listen to an explanation. "Well, one hypothetical scenario could be that the jewels were given to me by a friend to return, someone who thought I could be trusted to do the right thing and do it discreetly."

"A friend?" Booth shook his head. "Jesus. What kinds of friend do you have, Max?"

Max chuckled softly. "Old friends, like me, mostly. We're old and retired . . . and a couple of us are starting to get senile or require walkers to get around." Booth could hear a certain sadness that wasn't normally present in Max's voice as he spoke. "Hypothetically speaking, there might even be one old friend with a habit for picking up things that don't belong to her, even though she doesn't mean to take them, doesn't need them, and doesn't want them. I imagine that if I had a friend like that, she might occasionally call on me to help her undo something she's done."

"Like stealing high-end jewelry?"

Max just tilted his head, confirming without saying anything.

Booth sighed. Max had run around with a pretty tough crowd in his younger days. He and Ruth robbed banks, stealing the goods stored in safety deposit boxes. Undoubtedly, they'd collected a fair bit of jewelry in their day and knew people that were comfortable trafficking in the underground, stolen jewel markets. But, that was almost forty years ago and, as Max said, those folks would likely be getting old now. Before Pops had died, Booth had spent enough time at the retirement home with Pops and his cronies to understand that elderly people were often eccentric and sometimes acted out in manners that weren't intentional or didn't seem to make sense to those around them.

"Do I need to worry about what else this friend might be likely to do?" Booth couldn't let this matter drop with a clear conscience if he had any concerns that there might be more thefts in the future. He had an obligation to do his best to uphold the law even if he sometimes found the pursuit of that cause unsettling.

"No. She's at least a decade older than me and barely leaves her house by herself anymore. This recent activity was a fluke and she'll be watched more closely in the future by her children to make sure she doesn't do anything else rash."

Booth didn't bother trying to get a name from Max. He knew it would never happen. And, it could be remembrances of some of the characters that lived with Pops, but Booth was not inclined to spend any more effort than required on trying to arrest an octogenarian with sticky fingers if she didn't appear to be a future threat. He'd take Max's official story and leave it at that.

"All right. I believe you owe me a beer. A tall one."

* * *

 **A/N:** _Just one more chapter left, also posted today._


	6. Elf on the Shelf - Part 4 (Epilogue)

**A/N:** _Just a short little chapter to wrap things up. Second chapter today in case you missed the last one._

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (1/1/2017)

* * *

 _STORY 1 – THE ELF ON THE SHELF (Part 4)_

 ***** EPILOGUE *****

January 1st, New Year's Day.

Ranger sat on the shelf, little red legs dangling over the edge, and watched the family he'd come to love over the last month. Ever since the clock struck midnight, heralding the entrance of a New Year, he'd felt the holiday magic that had energized him since first coming out of his box, slowly leaving his system and he knew it wouldn't be long now until he was essentially just another inanimate object waiting to be packed away.

Booth was outside, taking the colorful Christmas lights off the house and boxing them up. Like the fabled Christmas Eve reindeer, his footsteps on the rooftop could be heard as he scampered around up there, removing the lights that hung from the gutters.

Bones stood by the tree, removing the ornaments. She put as much care and reverence into packing away those decorations that were homemade, gifts from her children, as she did the obviously more expensive baubles that had been purchased from the stores. Every now and again, she'd pause in her efforts, staring down at whichever object was in her hand at the time with a wistful look on her face, clearly remembering some event of significance that she associated with the item.

With a blast of cold from the outside following him in, Booth strolled through the kitchen door, rubbing his hands together in front of his face while blowing warm air on them. "Brrrrrr. It's cold out there today." His comment was directed to the room at large and not just any one specific individual. "Anyone care for some hot chocolate?"

Bones watched her husband head into the kitchen area, that soft, affectionate look on her face that Ranger had come to recognize. Her eyes wandered over his form as he reached for the pot to fill with water and a secretive smile lingered on her lips as she studied the rosy flush on his cheeks from being outside. "I'll have a cup. Thank you, Booth."

"Me, too." Christine piped up from her spot on the floor where she was playing with her dolls.

"With marshmallows?" he teased.

Christine giggled, nodding her head enthusiastically. "Yes, daddy. Lots and lots of marshmallows."

Hank, being a man of action, like his father, abandoned his building blocks and carried his sippy cup into the kitchen, waving it at his dad as he reached for his pants leg. "Choco, choco."

Booth looked down and groaned, seeing his son standing there in nothing but a Flyers sweatshirt. "Hank, buddy, your missing your bottoms." Once the pot was full with enough water, he set it on the stove top to heat and swooped his son into his arms. "Bones, Houdini here took off his diaper again."

Bones just chuckled. "Yes, I know. I did some research and it's just a normal phase he's going through."

"Christine never ran around stripping off her diaper. I don't recall Becca ever saying anything about Parker doing it either."

"Some kids do, some kids don't," she shrugged, unconcerned. "I put fresh diapers on him three times in the first hour after he woke up this morning and he keeps removing them, so . . ." she waved her hand in their direction, ". . . I let him be bare bottomed, the way nature made him. It's what he obviously wants."

Booth leaned in and blew a raspberry on Hank's neck, earning a series of squeals and giggles. "We're raising a little nudist, aren't we buddy? And mommy doesn't even mind." With his free hand, he pulled three mugs down from the cupboard, setting them beside the pot of water, and then grabbed the marshmallows and hot cocoa mix from the pantry. "That's because mommy likes to run around the house naked sometimes too. Like mother, like son, right buddy?"

Bones just rolled her eyes at her husband, doing her best to ignore him, while Christine giggled at the mention of the word _naked_.

A few minutes later, Hank returned to his pile of building blocks and sat down on the towels his mother had put down, happily content now that he had a sippy cup full of fresh hot chocolate. Booth set Christine's mug down on the table beside her, marshmallow's almost overflowing the top rim of the cup, and cautioned her to sip slowly in case it was too hot. Next, he grabbed the mugs he'd prepared for his wife and himself, carrying them over to where she stood by the tree.

"Here you go, Bones."

She accepted the mug he held out to her. "Thank you, Booth."

"All done putting away the decorations?"

"From the tree, yes. I just need to box up the few remaining knick-knacks around the room, then you can move everything back into the garage, where it's stored."

With a teasing glint in his eye and a nod to her mug, "I know you prefer whipped cream over marshmallows in your drink, but we seem to be all out of whipped cream at the moment."

She snorted softly and gave him a seductive smile. "Yes, I will admit I do occasionally enjoy whipped cream and based on your responses from the other evening, I believe you enjoy when I eat whipped cream too."

"Hell yeah, Bones. Hell yeah."

Bones leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on her husband's lips. "Happy New Year, Booth."

He smiled back at her. "No matter what curve balls the coming year throws at us, knowing that I have Christine, Hank, and most especially you to share it with, I'm looking forward to it."

Setting their mugs down on the coffee table, Bones and Booth together started packing up the holiday decorations around the room, not on the tree. As was inevitable, one of them eventually reached for Ranger, holding the small elfin doll in his hands. The magic was almost all gone now and Ranger could tell he was quickly losing consciousness, like falling into a deep, deep sleep.

Speaking softly so the kids wouldn't hear, "You did a really good job with this little guy, Bones. Christine sure got a thrill out of finding him in new places every morning."

"Me?" Bones furrowed her brows and gave Booth a questioning glance. "I didn't move him at night. I assumed you were doing that." She shook her head in disbelief and punched his arm gently. "You're just teasing me."

Surprised, Booth looked at his wife, then back down at the elf. "Maybe . . . Or, maybe it was Christmas magic." Bones rolled her eyes as Booth gently tucked the small red doll back into his original box. "Sleep well, Ranger. We'll see you next Christmas."

Ranger's last thought as the final remnants of magic slipped away was good jolly golly, he was looking forward to what the next year might bring.

 ***** THE END *****


	7. Elf on the Shelf - Part 375

**A/N:** _I know I'm supposed to be done with this story, but I had a reviewer (she knows who she is) express interest in what happened with the whipped cream referenced in Chapter 6. Well, today just so happens to be National Whipped Cream Day and this fic is rated M, so . . . . . . here we go._

 _NOTE: The following chapter is for mature audiences only._

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (1/5/2017)

* * *

 _STORY 1 – THE ELF ON THE SHELF (Part 3.75, because chronologically it happens shortly before Part 4)_

At the sight of her son sleeping soundly in her arms, Brennan softly closed the children's book she had been reading and rested her head on the back of the rocking chair as she gently swayed to and fro, closing her eyes. She should get up and tuck him into bed. She needed to get up. The living area was still in disarray from Christmas morning just a couple days past – emptied boxes and scraps of wrapping paper seemingly tucked into every nook and cranny, toys and Christmas candies scattered across the coffee table. She'd left it untouched until now, knowing that there was something special in the experience for the kids about playing with their new gifts on the floor in front of the tree, surrounded by the remnants of the holiday gift-opening frenzy, but she was determined to at least start making some headway on cleaning up the detritus littering her living area tonight.

But not quite yet.

It could wait just a few more minutes while she enjoyed the feel of having a warm little body snuggled up to her, sleeping with his tousled blonde head resting on her chest, just beneath her chin. Now that Hank was mobile, he seemed to have an endless reserve of energy, always being in motion, and these moments of quiet cuddling were becoming fewer and further between. Eventually though, she could feel herself starting to get drowsy so she stood up, careful not to wake Hank, and laid him down in the brand new toddler bed they'd purchased a couple weeks ago when they discovered he could escape from his crib. One final kiss to his brow and she left the room, closing the baby gate they'd started putting across his door as soon as they moved him from the crib into his new bed.

Booth looked up from the bar where he was mixing up a couple drinks as Brennan walked into the room.

"Kids both asleep?"

"Out like lights." She looked around the room noting the items on the coffee table were now neatly arranged and fireplace apron plus the area of carpet between the coffee table and fireplace had been cleared. "Appears you already cleaned up a little out here while I was with Hank."

"Just a few things." He gestured with his head towards their fireplace where crackling logs emitted a warm glow. "I was in the mood to relax in front of a fire tonight, so had to clean up enough that I wouldn't have to worry about burning the house down."

"Sitting in front of the fire does sound rather pleasant." Curious, she joined her husband at the bar. "What are you doing?"

"I decided to take Aubrey's suggestion from the other night and make us some El Dorado hot chocolates to try."

"Oh. What's an El Dorado?"

"Hot chocolate, rum, and cinnamon flavored liqueur." Booth had mixed the drink in a pot over the stove and set it aside to stay warm until Brennan joined him. Now that she was there, he filled two mugs with the steamy concoction. "Want some marshmallows on top?"

Brennan scrunched up her nose in distaste, shaking her head slightly from side to side. "I don't really like marshmallows. They're just a sugary-based confection without any natural ingredients and with no redeeming nutritional value. Do you even know what marshmallows are made of? They're –"

"Stop. Stop, I don't want to know." He deliberately, tauntingly, held his cup up in front of his face and sprinkled a handful of mini-marshmallows into his mug. "See this? I am not letting you ruin hot chocolate with marshmallows for me with your squint speak."

Brennan chuckled softly. "Fine." Palms down on the top of the counter, she leaned over so she could see the preparation area on his side of the bar. "Do you have any whipped cream over there?"

"What?" He laughed. "You disparage my marshmallows, but you're okay with whipped cream?"

Not seeing the bottle on his side of the counter, Brennan got up and went to retrieve it from the refrigerator in the kitchen. "Yes, that is correct." Holding up her bottle of Reddi-Whip, she pointed to the ingredients. "The first and primary ingredient is actually real cream." Retaking her seat at the bar, Brennan squirted a healthy dollop of the whipped cream on top of her drink, then picked the mug up with both hands and took the first sip. "Oh. Now that's tasty."

Booth grabbed the Reddi-Whip bottle and looked at the nutritional information listed on the back. "Bones, there is absolutely no redeeming nutritional value to this either."

"I know," she acknowledged with a teasing twinkle in her eye, "but at least there are fewer calories per serving." She shrugged her shoulders unapologetically. "I simply enjoy the taste of whipped cream more than marshmallows."

Booth, still holding the whipped cream bottle, tilted his head back and squirted some of the topping directly into his mouth.

"Booth," she admonished, laughing at his antics.

"Wha?" he responded, mouth full of cream. After swallowing, he tilted the bottle so that the nozzle was pointed towards her and ordered "Open wide."

Giggling, she leaned away from him, turning her head. "No. No. Stay away from me with that."

"C'mon, Bones." Booth captured her hand with his, tugging gently and pulling her closer. "Here comes the train, choo, choo, heading for the tunnel. Open wide . . . C'mon, you can do it."

Giving in, she leaned forward and opened her mouth, eyes locked on his, and in an instant, the suggestive nature of her action changed the atmosphere from playful to sensual. Booth held the nozzle slightly in front of her lips and squeezed, filling her mouth completely. Too full. When she tried to close her mouth to swallow, a little overflowed, oozing out the sides of her mouth. Booth reached up and wiped away the excess from one side with this thumb, which he then brought to his own mouth to lick clean while her tongue snuck out from between her lips to clean the other side of her mouth. They never broke eye contact. "Damn, that's so hot," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're drawing an allusion to seeing me with a mouth full of your semen after oral intercourse, aren't you?"

At this point in their lives, he was used to her blunt way of speaking and didn't even flinch. Much. "Yeah, Bones. I am."

Another moment passed in quiet companionship as they gazed at one another, sipping their El Dorados, hands still clasped together where he'd grabbed onto her earlier . . . both lost in their own thoughts that while different, were remarkably the same too.

"You know . . . ," Brennan began, reaching for the bottle of Reddi-Whip with her free hand, ". . . that was tasty, but I think it just whet my appetite." She squirted a strip of whipped cream along the top of one of his fingers where their hands were entwined, then, lifting their hands together, eyes never leaving his, leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the referenced digit, licking and sucking it clean. "Mmmmm."

She could see the flare of heat in his eyes and watch the way his Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed, trying to retain his composure. She repeated her action again and noticed the cadence of his breathing change, becoming more shallow.

Brennan stood up, bottle of dessert topping in one hand, Booth in the other, and pulled him out from behind the bar as she slowly walked backwards, towards their couch and the fire blazing gently in the hearth. "I'd like to see if this tastes just as good applied to other parts of your body as it did your finger." Her voice had adopted that seductive, sultry tone that always had the immediate effect of stirring his loins. The actual words were almost immaterial. Almost. "Are you up for that, Agent Booth?"

"Up," he croaked. "I'm definitely up."

She smiled and released him. "Take your clothes off, Booth, and lie down." She stepped around him and went to the wall, turning off the overhead lights so that only the glow of the fire and the light trickling down the hall from their bedroom illuminated the room. She turned back in time to see Booth pulling his shirt over his head, exposing the rippling muscles of his abdomen as his arms stretched upwards. She began to work on the buttons of her own shirt as he grabbed several pillows off the couch and chairs, tossing them onto the floor in front of the fire to create a cozy nest.

Once Booth was fully naked, he laid down on the pillows, arms folded behind his head and awaited his wife. Brennan stripped down to her bra and panties, but left those on to start with.

Dropping to her knees, she straddled his thighs and squeezed out about a 6-inch long line of whipped cream right down the center of his chest. Booth sucked in a gasp of air at the sensation of the cool confection on his skin, but exhaled that air on a whoosh of breath when he felt Brennan's warm tongue caressingly follow that same line, lapping up the whipped cream and sending shivers of sensation all the way to his toes. "Sternum," she said, when done, squirting another dollop above the sternum, right below his neck. She leaned down again, her hair curtaining her face and adding another layer of eroticism as it tickled across his skin. She let her tongue play here a moment longer, swirling and caressing, tasting him even after the whipped cream was cleaned up. "Mmm. Manubrium."

Next, she slid down a little further towards his knees and drew a line of cream from left to right, beneath but slightly offset from his pectoral muscle. Booth's nipples beaded up in anticipation, knowing her mouth was on his skin just a few inches away and he had to resist the compelling urge to take himself in his own hand while she played. Much as he loved the attention he was getting, his cock was jealously crying out for direct stimulation too. He could feel her warm breath whisper across his chest. When she finished licking up this latest stripe of confectionary goodness, she nipped his skin with her teeth, causing him to jump at the sudden, yet thrilling, contact. "Sixth sternal rib."

Brennan sat up on her haunches presenting a visual feast for his eyes. Her full breasts were barely concealed by the lacy triangles of her bra, the round globes pouring over the edges with just enough covered to entice and tease. Her creamy pale skin was bathed in a golden glow from the fireplace, making it look warm and inviting to the touch. Booth placed both hands on her waist, but allowed one to slide upwards, capturing the heft of her breast in his palm as his thumb drew lazy circles around the tip eliciting a soft mewl of pleasure from the back of her throat.

"Pick a bone, Booth." He was so caught up in enjoying the sight and feel of her that it took a moment for her words to penetrate his brain.

"Huh?"

Brennan waggled the whipped cream bottle in front of her. "Show me you've occasionally paid attention to what I say. Pick a bone to direct me where to go next."

Booth's mind went momentarily blank and he blurted out the first thing he could think of. "Patella."

Brennan's eyebrows went up and the smile she gave him was slightly mocking, but she went to where he directed. Shifting down so she sat near his feet, she squirted the whipped cream over his knee cap, but instead of immediately lapping it up, she pressed open mouthed kisses along the inside of his leg near his ankle and slowly, but steadily, worked her way towards his knee with moist caresses and nibbles that made him squirm. As she cleaned the sweet dessert from the top of his knee, her fingernails gently teased the back of his knee, seeking out erogenous zones that were oft times neglected.

"One more, Booth." Brennan scraped her teeth along the skin at the bottom of his knee cap and was rewarded with an appreciative moan. "The bottle's almost empty, so there's probably only enough whipped cream left for one more spot. Where should I go last?" she taunted.

"Bones . . . you know exactly where I want you to go, but it's not a bone. Not a real one, at any rate."

"So, tell me anyway. Let me hear you say it."

"My cock, Bones. I want to feel your lips and your tongue on my cock."

She chuckled with delight. "As you wish."

"Ahh-ha . . . fuck, that whipped cream is still cold . . . Oh, Jesus, your mouth is so warm though." Booth's hips thrust forward almost involuntarily as his fingers tangled in her hair. "Oh, that's nice . . . yeah."

Brennan's mouth slid up and down his cock, her hand grasping the base and squeezing in time with her oral attentions. Every now and then she'd pause at the top and flick her tongue around his head while her fingers would slip lower and tease his scrotum.

Booth was feeling on edge, not sure how much longer he would last. "Whip cream all gone?" he managed to ask.

"All gone."

"Then it's my turn, now." He sat up quickly and in one move, had her flipped around on her back, beneath him as he started to devour her skin, planting open mouthed kisses starting at her neck and working down, barely pausing for more than the few seconds necessary to strip her bra from her body before his lips were wrapped around her breast, suckling the teat ravenously.

It was Brennan's turn to squirm at his barely leashed control. The aggressive way he was handling her ramping up her own excitement when he reached down and practically tore her underpants from her body. "Booth," she moaned.

"You're mine, Bones." He let the fingers of one hand tangle in the folds of flesh at the apex of her thighs, opening her up enough to feel the moisture that had gathered there, continued to gather there, and spread it around. She bucked against his hand when he rubbed against her clitoris. "God, you're so wet. You can have your whipped cream all you want. This is my favorite cream, right here." Booth brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

"Yes. I'm ready for you. Now." She strained against him, rubbing her body against his as best she could, trying to entice him. "Fuck me, Booth. I want to feel you buried inside me."

"Dammit, Bones. That's not fair." He positioned himself over her and entered her in once sharp thrust. "Aaaah, you know what it does to me when you talk like that."

"Yes . . . oh, yes. That feels good." She wrapped her legs around him, hooking her ankles around his thighs and holding him tight as he moved in and out of her depths, matching his rhythm. "So good, Booth."

It wasn't a new experience for them, this intimacy they shared, but the experience hadn't paled with time. They knew where to touch, where to stroke, to get the maximum response and provide the most pleasure, but even so, the lovemaking always seemed exciting. Rewarding. And sometimes, like tonight, it even seemed a little frenzied . . . frantic . . . teetering on the edge of control.

Brennan tilted her hips bringing her legs up higher and slid her hands down Booth's back, cupping his ass. "Mmmm . . . yes, deeper, Booth." Booth responded, moving an arm to pull one of her legs up higher, the back of her thigh pressing to his chest, and stroked deeper, harder, hitting that special spot inside over and over that finally sent her skyrocketing. As her inner walls pulsed, clenching possessively around him, she pulled him over the edge with her and he felt his climax explode through him too.

"Christ, Bones," Booth huffed, still catching his breath. "How do you do that to me over and over again?"

Brennan just smiled and chuckled softly, her hands leisurely stroking up and down his back now as he lay against her, coming down from the precipice. "Easy, Booth. I love you and I trust you. I think that allows us to open ourselves up fully to the experience of lovemaking in a way I never knew with anyone else and, for me, the whole orgasm experience is just that much better."

"Damn." Leaning over her and looking down into her face and the love he saw there humbled him. "I love you too. You are amazing, Bones. You know that?"

"Yes."

He rolled to the side and sat up, looking around the room before looking back at his wife with a wicked grin and a wink. "Make sure you add another can of Reddi-Whip to the grocery list though. It's my turn next."

* * *

 **A/N:** _Ahem. So . . . happy National Whipped Cream Day. Reviews and comments are always appreciated._


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